


Wingless

by CausticCupcake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom!Cas, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Poor Cas, hard to write, painful, so many feels, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CausticCupcake/pseuds/CausticCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dean and Cas love story, with plot, feels and lots of sloppy sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, and I'm really excited to have a place to share it! I'll update as I write more. I'm more than happy to hear constructive criticisim if you're willing to give it! Thanks for taking the time to read! Enjoy!

Dean was sitting at the table in the rickety old motel room that he and Sammy had been checked into for several days now. The wall paper was peeling off in a few corners, the carpeting had long since been pulled up to reveal a bare floor. There was a small kitchen off to the right with a refrigerator that was on its last legs and made a comforting whirring sound each time it kicked on. A half-empty bottle of cheap liquor sat before him, his glass containing less than half a sip at the bottom. He had finished off the last few shots in the bottle before and was just getting started on this one. He had a long night of self-loathing ahead of him, as per usual.  
“I see you’re not wasting any time tonight.” Said Cas from behind.   
Dean answered by pouring another fifth of whiskey into his glass and tossing it back.   
“Yeah well, I don’t have much else to do.” Dean said, wincing at the alcohol. “We’re done. Leaving tomorrow.”   
He considered another drink, but decided he better wait. He leaned back in the ancient chair and it groaned in protest. He laced his fingers behind his head and took a deep breath.   
“Where is your brother?” Cas asked, moving towards the table and pulling out a chair.   
“Sammy’s busy with the damsel in distress, Cas. He rescued her from a werewolf. She’s repaying him.” Dean said with his eyes closed.  
“You sound jealous, Dean.”  
Dean opened one eye and looked at Cas for the first time, sitting across the table from him. He chuckled.  
“I’ve had my fair share of damsels, Cas. Trust me.”  
A comfortable silence fell between them. The heater in the corner clicked on. A car turned around in the parking lot just on the other side of the door. There were muffled sounds coming through the wall from the couple carrying on a conversation next to them. A thought occurred to Dean.   
“Cas—“ he started, but he opened his eyes to find the angel wasn’t sitting across from him any longer.   
“Where the hell did he go?” Dean muttered to himself.   
With the familiar flap of wings, his question was answered. Cas returned with bottles of alcohol spilling from his arms. He crossed the room to drop them onto Dean’s bed and turned after doing so. Dean stared at him with his mouth slightly open.   
“I want to drink with you.” Cas said innocently, holding Dean’s gaze.   
A smile crept across Dean’s face, causing his eyes to crinkle. He started to laugh, a deep bellow that started in his chest and rumbled outward.   
“I don’t get it.” Cas said, still holding Dean’s gaze.   
This only made Dean laugh harder.   
A few hours later, the two men had music playing in the background and were still sitting around the rickety old table. Dean had nearly finished his bottle of whiskey and Cas had gone through four of his own. They were both at the specific level of drunk where everything is funny, everything feels good, and they couldn’t care less about what anyone thought of them. Dean was trying to teach Cas how to play poker.   
“I don’t understand” Cas said, scattering his cards in front of him—he was having trouble keeping them in his hand. “Why do you want me to lie to you about my cards?”  
“Because,” Dean said, gathering Cas’s cards and handing them back to him, making a show of not looking. “That’s how you play the game. You try to trick the other players into thinking you have better cards than them so they get scared and give you all their money.”  
“But I’d never lie to you, Dean.” Cas said, sloppily grabbing his cards from Dean’s hand.   
He let his fingers linger for just a moment, tickling the flesh on the inside of his wrist. He hoped Dean would write it off as poor motor skills due to the volume of alcohol he had consumed, but Cas could have sworn he heard Dean’s breath catch in his throat. Dean drew his hand back and looked down at it for a moment.  
“Everyone lies, Cas” Dean said quietly, looking up at him. “No matter how good they are, everyone lies. Take it from a pro.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“All I do is lie to people, Cas.” Dean said, shifting in his chair uncomfortably.   
He was getting agitated with his winged companion.  
“Dean, I hardly see how—“  
“Don’t try to sugar-coat it, Cas. I’m a lying sack of shit. It’s my profession. You know it, I know it—“ Dean’s voice was rising with his temper.   
“Dean, you know that’s not what I meant—“Cas started, shrinking into himself.   
“Don’t pretend like you’ve never lied either, feather-butt. All we do is lie to people and drag them down with us, and in a few years I’m going to wind up in a body bag without anyone to give a shit! That’s what liars do! They die alone!”   
Dean reached for his bottle of whiskey, but Cas grabbed his wrist.   
“Dean, please don’t drink anymore.”  
“Why?” Dean snapped, trying to tug his hand free. “Don’t like me like this? Do I make you scared?”   
“Yes.” Cas said quietly. “Yes, you scare me Dean. I… I don’t know what you’re capable of doing when you’re like this. There’s something inside you that’s so… “ His voice broke. He took a shuddering breath and worked to keep his words steady. “...so broken. And I want to be able to fix it, Dean. But I can’t. You won’t let me.”  
Dean stepped closer and crouched by his chair. He covered Cas’ hands with his own.   
“Cas…” He said.  
A sob escaped Castiel’s throat as tears started rushing from his eyes. He was trying so hard to hold himself together for Dean, but it was difficult when he looked into his eyes and saw the amount of pain reflected back at him.   
“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean whispered, squeezing his hands in his own. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”   
“That’s not why I’m upset, Dean!” Cas snapped, shaking a hand free and wiping angrily at his eyes.  
“I know.” Dean said quietly, letting go of Cas’ hand. “I know, I’m sorry.”  
He started to push himself up from the floor, but Cas stopped him, grabbing his shoulder.   
“Please stay.” Cas said softly, sniffing. “I want—“  
“Cas, my ass is going to sleep. Can we move somewhere else?”   
“Where else is there to go in this damned room?” Cas snapped, directing his frustration at inanimate objects as opposed to the man who had his heart beating a little faster. “I need room to think.”   
Dean felt his stomach drop and his ears pop like he had just dove to the bottom of the ocean. He blinked and found himself out in an empty field, the moon illuminating the clearing.   
“Where are we?” He asked.  
“A meadow several miles outside of town.” Cas replied, taking a few steps forward and inspecting their new surroundings. “Why do you always get the mustiest motels you can find? How do you get any work done there?”  
Dean’s head was spinning as usual from the trip via angel taxi service. The bottle of whiskey he had consumed was making it that much worse. He tried taking a step and ended up stumbling. He fell flat on his stomach.   
“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asked, worried. “Let me help you up!”  
Dean chuckled and rolled onto his back.   
“No, I’m better down here, I think. I’m drunk, Cas. Why’d you let me drink so much?” He teased.  
“I drank four times the amount you did, Dean” Cas chuckled, taking a place next to Dean in the soft grass.   
“Well, then you’re really drunk.” Dean said smiling.   
Dean relaxed into the grass and listened to the crickets chirp. He could hear water trickling somewhere close by, frogs croaking. Off in the trees an owl hooted. They sat in the darkness for minutes, hours. Breathing in the open space, letting their emotions settle down after their explosive conversation. Finally, Cas spoke.   
“I’m sorry I said you were broken.” He murmured. “It was wrong of me.”  
Dean felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he didn’t know how to tell Cas how broken he felt. He couldn’t figure out why it was something he wanted to share with him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to make words come out, but he couldn’t talk past the lump in his throat.   
“No Cas,” He finally choked out. “It was right on the money. I’m very broken and I don’t know that there’s much that can be done about it.”   
Hot tears started to fall from Dean’s eyes, clinging to his lashes. It felt like his stomach was in a vise grip. No matter what he did or who he tried to save, he always lost someone important to him. His mother, his father, his home. He had lost his life. He felt as though a portion of himself had died with each and every loss he had experienced, and when he went to hell, that was the last straw. Each and every day was a struggle, but he still put on his brave face and fought as hard as he could. But really, he was miserable.   
********************************************************************  
Castiel went to Dean. It was all he knew to do. He held him into his chest as he cried, tears flowing down his cheeks, too. He took a shuddering breath of his intoxicating scent—leather from his father’s old jacket, a hint of tobacco smoke from the occasional cigarette he snuck when Sam wasn’t around. The scent of dark, rich coffee, and a spicy musk that was unique to his body.   
“I’m so sorry” Cas whispered into Dean’s hair. “You’re not broken.” He insisted.   
He grabbed Dean’s face and looked into his deep green eyes, wiping the tears that had collected on his freckled cheeks away.   
“Dean Winchester, you are not broken.”  
And then they were kissing.   
************************************************************************  
The space between their lips was so enticing. Dean wanted to taste Cas’ lips so badly. He didn’t know what had come over him, but he didn’t want Cas to stop touching him. From the second their hands had touched—was it only an hour ago? He felt an electricity spark between him. A heat that kept growing deep in his stomach.   
“Dean Winchester, you are not broken.”   
Cas had said it so firmly, so confidently that Dean couldn’t not believe him. For the first time in his life, he felt an amazing power rush over him—the power that came with realizing someone believed in you.   
He breathed in Castiel’s scent. It was clean and slightly spicy. He could smell the aged whiskey on his lips, but it wasn’t off-putting, in fact, it smelled delicious.   
Dean closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Castiel’s softly at first, testing him. When he didn’t pull away, Dean pressed a little harder, his heart in his throat. Cas parted his lips ever so slightly, and shivered. Fueled by whiskey and lust, Dean had the courage to push onward. He pulled Cas into his lap and started kissing harder, letting his tongue dart out between his lips and caress Cas’ bottom lip. Cas moaned in approval and started running his fingers through Dean’s short hair.   
Dean felt a pop and a familiar pressure-change in his ears, and realized they were back in the motel room, on top of his bed. The springs groaned in protest under the weight of the two men. Without parting, Dean pressed Cas down into the bed, covering him with his body. He kissed him hungrily, nipping at his lips and allowing his hands to explore the chiseled muscles that made up his chest. Each time he made Cas moan, he made a mental note of what he liked.   
For next time. He thought devilishly.   
“Dean” Castiel gasped as he broke free. “Dean, what about Sam?”  
“What about Sam?” Dean growled, trailing kisses down Cas’ neck.   
“He’ll be home shortly, won’t he? It might frighten him if he finds his brother making love to an angel in his motel room.”  
Dean froze and pulled away so his eyes could focus on Cas’s.   
“What did you just say?” He croaked.  
Cas’s face reddened and Dean could see panic in his eyes.   
“My apologies, Dean. I must have misunderstood—“  
“Did you just say that you wanted me to ‘make love’ to you, Cas?”   
Cas swallowed and met Dean’s gaze.   
“Yes.”   
“With all due respect, Cas, I’m not going to ‘make love’ to you.”  
Horror flooded the angel’s face. He started sitting up, pulling himself out from under Dean. Dean put a hand on Cas’ chest, pinning him to the bed. He leaned in close, his lips a second away from his lover’s.   
“Castiel, I’m going to fuck you senseless.” He growled.  
Dean crushed his lips against Cas’, more urgently than before. Cas ground his hips into Deans, making him groan, and wrapped his arms around his neck, giving him better leverage. Their hips fit together perfectly. Cas started clawing at Dean’s faded t-shirt, helping him get it up over his head and threw it to the floor. Dean did the same with Cas, layering kisses over every inch of flesh he could. A flush crept up Cas’ neck into his cheeks and sweat began to gather at his brow. Dean focused on his neck and chest, taking him in, breathing his scent, tasting his skin. He slid a hand to the waistband of his jeans and started fumbling with the buttons. Cas grabbed his hand.   
“Wait.” He said.   
Dean immediately stopped. “What is it? Are you okay? Do you still want to do this?”  
Cas bit his lip and nodded. “More than anything. But Dean…”  
“I already told you, Cas.” Dean said, plastering more kisses down the fine hair on Cas’ stomach, trailing to his waistband. “Sam’s not coming back he’s staying with some broad—“  
“Dean.” He squeezed his hand. “I’ve never had sex before.”  
A laugh escaped Dean’s mouth before he could stop it.   
“I’m sorry!” He said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just… I’m about to do an angel and he’s a virgin! It’s kind of adorable.”   
Grinning, Dean bent over Cas and kissed the scowl off his face.   
“Don’t be scared, Angel. We can go slow. And if it’s too much, just tell me.”  
“I don’t want to—“  
“Listen,” Dean said, taking his hands. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. It’s okay.”   
Dean realized that he meant those words more than Cas could ever understand. He never wanted to see Cas hurt. Ever again. He silently pledged that he’d never let that happen.  
Cas answered by rubbing himself against the large bulge in Dean’s pants. Dean shuddered and let out a long moan. He was pleased to see his lust mirrored in the angel’s dilated pupils. Dean again began undoing the buttons on Cas’s pants, this time sliding them down off his legs and onto the floor. His mouth watered at the sight of the sizable erection hidden in Cas’ underwear.   
“Now you” Cas managed between kisses, bringing his hands to Dean’s worn out jeans.   
Dean smiled against Cas’ lips and put his hands up, letting the angel struggle with his button-fly. When Cas finally got it, he helped Dean shimmy out of his pants and kick them off to some other corner of the room. There was now a very small amount of cotton between them and even then it was too much for Dean. He gripped the waistband of Cas’ briefs and tore them away, revealing his large erection, glistening with anticipation. Dean ran a finger along the sensitive flesh, barely caressing him, but it was enough. Castiel took in a shuddering breath and shivered with pleasure.   
Dean loved the way that Cas’ body reacted to his. Each touch, every caress made him shudder and heat up. He’d never been with anyone like that before. He traced around the base of Cas’ huge cock and made his eyelids flutter. Gently, he closed a hand around Cas.  
Cas gasped and jerked like he’d just been electrocuted. Dean teased the sensitive flesh between Cas’ thighs, then moved up to the head of his erection and rubbed just under it. Cas responded by letting out a choked cry. Dean couldn’t help himself, he bent down and licked the area his finger was currently residing. Cas took a shuddering breath and threw his head back on the pillow. Dean smiled and kissed up and down Castiel’s cock, finally taking him between his lips, causing Cas to arch his back into the thrusts Dean made with his mouth. Cas was making sounds Dean had never heard anyone make before, and he loved it. He loved that he was responsible for it. With the hand currently tangled in Cas’ dark curls, he made his way to Cas’ entrance, teasing him. Cas opened his legs wider.   
“Shit” Dean said, stopping suddenly.  
“What?!” Cas said, his head snapping to the door, expecting to see Sam walk through.   
“We need lube.” Dean said. “I might have some in my duffel…”  
Dean slid off the bed, ignoring Cas’ protests, and walked to the other side of the room, leaving Cas cold and with a throbbing erection. He stumbled around in the dark for a few minutes and finally returned with a bottle of lubricant. He squeezed a generous amount into his hand and took Cas with the other.   
“This might hurt a little.” Dean said, kissing Cas’ hips. “Just tell me if it’s too much, okay?” His kissed Cas’ enormous erection one last time. “Ready?” Cas answered by throwing his head back on the pillow once more.  
Painfully slow, Dean took one lubed up finger and traced around Cas’ entrance, tickling the tight flesh. Cas whimpered and opened his legs wider still. He slid a finger inside of the angel, causing him to cry out.   
Dean froze. “Too much?!”   
“No.” Cas purred, his voice strained. “No, it’s… really good.”  
Slowly, Dean added a second finger, stretching Cas carefully. In the meantime, Cas had started caressing Dean’s throbbing erection, making it difficult for Dean to focus on what he was doing. Despite the fact that Cas had never had sex before, or any real sexual content for that matter, he knew exactly how to touch Dean and where. Cas loved the way he could make him moan by dragging a finger up the length of this shaft.   
“Shit” Cas breathed when Dean added a third finger.   
The new sensation stung a little bit, but it quickly mixed with the pleasure beautifully and left Cas breathless. He let out a small cry once Dean started thrusting, hitting all the right places. He responded by thrusting harder, which in turn made Cas grip his cock tighter.   
“Jesus, Cas.” Dean breathed. “That feels so good.”  
Cas stroked faster and thrust himself harder into Dean’s fingers. The pressure was building inside of him already. He felt full and empty at the same time. He needed more.  
“Dean—“ He choked. “Dean I need you.”  
In an instant, Dean had pulled his fingers out and positioned himself at Cas’ entrance, giving his cock on last little touch of lube to make it as comfortable as possible for Cas. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him, to make him afraid to experience this again. Cas’ hands had moved to Dean’s back, his short fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Dean bent down and caught Cas’ lips between his own, giving them a little nip to warn him he was going to start.   
With that, Dean pushed into Cas, painfully slow at first. Concentrating with everything he had on not losing it and fucking himself into oblivion. He was so tight and hot. It was all Dean could do.   
“Dean” Cas hissed, gripping tighter still on his shoulder blades. He thrust himself deeper onto Dean’s cock, signaling that it wasn’t painful, he liked it.   
Already Dean was so close to coming—he couldn’t help it. Cas turned him on, and knowing that he chose to have sex for the first time with him made the angel that much more irresistible. Dean quickly started driving into Cas, thankful for the extra leverage having his arms locked around his back gave him. Cas met him stroke for stroke, thrusting into him just as hard. Dean hit his prostate and Cas yelled, his voice cracking with the pleasure. Their breath came out in short bursts, between moans and obscenities coming out of Dean’s mouth. He didn’t think it was possible, but his cock became harder with each thrust into the angel. His angel.   
Cas’ voice took on a tone of urgency as his breathing quickened. “Dean—“ He sobbed. “Dean—“ Suddenly his eyes began to shine, and the room around them began to tremble. Cas shouted in a language Dean couldn’t recognize and started to come. Dean thrusted harder, making sure to hit that perfect spot each and every time, Cas’ body seizing around him, flinging him over the edge. Dean roared and drove into Cas with tremendous force, Cas thrusting back just as hard. Dean let himself go as he was being bathed in the whitest, purest light he had ever seen which appeared to be coming from Cas. He spilled himself into his angel, drowning in pleasure. 

“Cas” Dean whispered, rubbing the angel’s shoulder. “Cas, c’mon.”  
Cas rolled over into Dean, mumbling something unintelligible.   
“C’mon, feather-butt. Let’s get you in the shower. Then you can sleep.”  
“No.” Cas whined. He liked it right here. In Dean’s bed. “I want to sleep first.”  
“I thought angels didn’t sleep.” Dean said, half-joking.   
“I’m too tired to explain what just happened to you.” Cas grumped. “Maybe tomorrow.”   
Dean pulled the covers away from Cas and grabbed his hand, dragging him up out of the creaky bed.   
“Why are you making me bathe?” Cas asked.  
“Because.” Dean said through a smile. “That’s what you do after you have crazy angelic sex with a human. You take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”  
“But I already feel better than I ever have before.” Cas said seriously.   
Dean lead them into the small bathroom, where he already had the water running in the shower and clean boxers and t-shirts laid out for them. The wall of steam that hit Cas felt nice. Maybe a shower wasn’t such a bad idea. Cas stepped into the heavenly stream of the showerhead, closing the door behind him. He was surprised when Dean stepped in behind him, but also comforted.   
“Move over.” Dean said, squeezing into the small space, pressing himself up against Cas.   
Cas leaned into Dean’s chest and let out a contented sigh when Dean wrapped an arm around his waist. Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Cas’ head and then released him, reaching past him for the shampoo bottle in the shower caddy. He squirted some into his hand and started lathering Cas’ hair.   
“It smells like lemons.” Cas said absently, enjoying the massaging motion of Dean’s fingers in his hair. “I like lemons.”  
“Yeah, unfortunately they only had chick stuff in the vending machine outside.” Dean said, turning Cas around to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. “Wait a second, have you ever even had a lemon?”   
“I was there when God created lemons, Dean. I know what a lemon is.”  
Dean chuckled and smiled his crinkle-eyed smile. He turned Cas around again, this time working the conditioner into his hair, and taking a peek at his ass. He nodded in approval.   
He repeated the process in his own hair, then soaped Cas up and rinsed him off. He shut off the water.   
“Hey!” Cas said, his eyes snapping open. “I was enjoying that!”   
“Well, do you want to stay in the shower, or do you want to go to bed?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised.   
Cas answered by turning the water back on and pressing his lips to Dean’s.


	2. Out in the Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get caught.

The early morning light filtered through the dirty windows of the motel room, causing the room to glow. Dean took a moment to take in his surroundings. He breathed in the scent of the angel lying next to him—clean smelling with a hint of lemons from the night before. He pulled Cas a little closer to him, savoring the warmth of another body pressed against his. Cas murmured in his sleep and rolled into Dean, nestling his head into the space between his shoulder and his pectoral. Dean smiled and buried his lips in the angel’s dark hair.   
“Dean?” Cas asked sleepily.  
“It’s okay, Cas. I’m here.” He rested his chin onto of Cas’ head. “It’s really early still. Go back to sleep.”   
Cas let out a contented sigh and readjusted his head on Dean’s chest.   
“I can hear your heart beating.” He said after a few moments of silence. “I’ve never really listened to a heartbeat before.”  
Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and kissed the knuckles. He place their hands on his chest, over his heart, fingers laced.  
“Can you feel it?” He asked.  
Cas nodded, his head rising and falling with each of Dean’s breaths.  
“I want to stay like this forever.” Cas said quietly, tracing Dean’s jaw with a long finger.   
“Mmmm” Dean said in agreement.   
He could stay like this forever, too. It was freeing for Dean to love someone so openly. He had always kissed boys in secret—in bar bathrooms, dark alleys. Every so often he could arrange an anonymous fuck if they were in town for more than a few days. He had become used to mindless, meaningless acts with virtually no consequences. But things were different with Cas. He could already tell that they would be open with each other. Honest.  
Cas’ breathing grew lighter, he had slipped back into sleep. It was 6am and the sun was just starting to rise. Birds were chirping outside the motel room. Dean figured he could get a few more hours of sleep before Sam came home and they’d have to move on to the next town. Dean was on the edge of sleep, warm and happy, content with the angel snuggled up to him. He felt the fog of a dream start to roll in, but was startled awake by what sounded like keys in the door.   
“Dean?” Sam asked weakly, dropping his duffel to the floor. “What the… hell?”  
There was a flap of wings and the warmth of his angel was suddenly gone. Dean sat up in bed and met his brother’s horrified gaze. He could feel his face heating up, his heart beating out of his chest.   
“Sam—shit, I can—“  
“Were you and… and Cas…”  
“I thought you went home with that girl?” Dean asked, trying to turn it around on Sam—maybe if he could make him feel like he shouldn’t be here, he’d leave.   
“I had to leave before her kids came home from—wait, it doesn’t matter. Were and Cas…in bed together?”   
The words hung in the air uncomfortably, sitting in the open.   
“Yeah.” Dean said, painfully aware that he was still naked under the covers.   
It wasn’t that Sam had never walked in on him before, in fact, it really didn’t bother him much—he could probably learn a thing or two from him. But he’d never been walked in on when he was in bed with another guy—let alone one of their closest friends. But something inside of Dean wanted to come clean. He hadn’t known until he was 19 that he liked guys, and he hadn’t come to terms with it until he was 22. But he was done hiding. He was terrified of what his father would do if found out and now he was dead. Dean would never know if he would have been graced with acceptance or not. He didn’t want to continue playing this game with Sam.  
“Yeah, Sammy. He spent the night, and we—“  
“Woah!” Sam sad, shaking his head. “Dude, I don’t want to know any details.”  
“Sorry.” Dean said, blushing. “I was going to say that we had had a few drinks—“  
“So you jump into bed with the guy?” Sam exclaimed, exasperation plain on his face.   
“No.” Dean snapped. “It probably would have happened without the booze, honestly.”   
“Jesus, Dean!” Sam said, rubbing his hands over his face. “Cas?”   
He kicked his duffel out of the doorway, closing the door with a click. He walked over to the coffee maker in the corner and busied himself with making coffee for the two of them. He paused and turned back to Dean who was now sitting up with his knees and tucked under his chin, staring at him.  
“Does this mean… You’re gay, dean? Sam asked, softly, almost too scared to ask.   
“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean answered honestly, after considering the question. “I’ve been struggling with it for years. I’ve kind of just stopped trying to categorize myself.”  
Sam turned back to the coffee and fiddled with the maker for a few minutes more. Then he crossed the room and sat down heavily on Dean’s bed.   
“Did Dad know?” He asked suddenly, trying to picture the ex-marine’s reaction.  
Dean laughed bitterly, and leaned his head back onto the headboard, shutting his eyes.   
“I don’t think so, Sammy. Can you imagine what he would have done if he had. He would have kicked my ass out so quick…”  
Sam chuckled absently, nodding in agreement.   
“What about Bob—“  
“Look Sam, does it really matter who the fuck knows?” Dean snapped, burning holes into the side of his brother’s head. “You know. And I’m… I’m relieved. You can disown me now if you want, but at least I can die now knowing that I’m not keeping it from you anymore.”  
Dean wished that his voice had had more power. That his eyes weren’t stinging and there weren’t a lump in his throat he was struggling to breathe past. He shivered and pulled his legs closer, but it wasn’t because he was cold. He wished Cas were still here.   
“Dean…” Sam laughed and turned toward Dean, shaking his head. “Why would that change anything?”   
Sam gazed straight into Dean’s eyes and there Dean saw… pride. Sam just walked in on his brother in bed with an angel and rather than being angry or ashamed of him, Sam looked at Dean with the same, adoring, pride-filled eyes he looked at him with when they were kids.   
“You’re my brother, Dean” Sam said softly. “Who you sleep with doesn’t change that…how could it?”  
Dean looked down, wiping at his eyes. “Dammit, Sammy.” He laughed and pulled his brother into a quick hug.  
“I swear to God, Dean” Sam grinned once his brother let him go. “If you’re not wearing anything under that sheet—“   
Dean pushed his little brother off the bed toward the coffee maker.   
“Bring me some coffee, bitch.” He laughed. 

While Sam was in the shower, Dean made his escape, quickly hopping out of bed and locating his boxers and changing into his clothes for the day. He poured himself another cup of coffee and scanned the newspaper Sam had brought in with him. He noticed as he was getting dressed that Cas’ clothes had disappeared. He wondered for a moment when Cas might pop up again. He wanted to tell him about his conversation with Sammy, but mostly, he wanted to spend time with him. Dean felt different when he was with his angel. Cas made him feel free, happy. He was able to let go of his pain when he was around Cas, focus on good things. Like kisses and how Cas tasted. The color that rushed to his cheeks when Dean—. He felt a tug in his stomach, remembering everything that had happened the night before.   
Things are different now. He told himself, smiling into his coffee cup.


	3. Abomination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> Unfortunately, this chapter involves a rape of sorts as well as torture. If you are sensitive to these types of scenes, please do not read further. Also please note: as a survivor myself, this was in no way written to offend anyone. I apologize from the bottom of my heart if that is what has been accomplished.  
> Thanks to all of those who have left comments and kudos! It is encouraging! I'm looking for someone who is willing to proofread for me. If you're interested please shoot me a message. 
> 
> CC

Castiel woke in a dark, cold room. It smelled damp, like wet stone—a stark contrast to where he had been just earlier that morning; warm and content, next to the hunter, buried in a borrowed t-shirt referencing a band he didn’t know. A florescent light dangled above his head, humming and lighting a circle around him. He hung from his wrists which were tied above his head with a warded chain. He stared up at it, trying to put together where he was, but it was useless. The room had little to no defining characteristics. He heard a scream off in the distance, echoing towards him. He made one last sweep of the room, desperately trying to find a clue. His eyes settled on a steel cart a few feet away. There were various instruments laying on top of it—forceps, syringes, scalpels, a few medieval looking devices. Castiel’s heart sank once he realized where he was.  
“You’ve been keeping yourself busy lately, haven’t you Castiel?” Asked a cold, deep voice. Appearing suddenly, as angels do.  
Cas squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the shape of his brother.  
“Methodious.” He said. “I’m happy to see you’ve been freed from prison.”  
“I spent a long time here, my friend. You’re familiar with that story, aren’t you?”  
The angel stepped closer to the light, revealing a vessel whose right side of his face was scarred terribly, flesh long since growing over the eye socket. No doubt wounds acquired during his stay in angelic prison.  
“Can’t say that I do, brother.” Cas bit out. “You’ll have to elaborate.”  
The dark-haired angel smiled and it was perhaps the evilest thing Cas had ever seen.  
“I was under the impression that all of heaven knew my saga.” He said, picking up a knife from a table that was too far out of the circle of light for Cas to see. Methodius held it close to his face, examining it. “Well, the synopsis, my dear brother, is that I was impure. I did unnatural things with unnatural people.” He took a few steps closer to Cas, pointing at him with the thin blade in his hand. “So they locked me up. Here actually. This was my cell.” He brandished the blade at the ceiling. “And they tortured the evil out of my body, Castiel.” He took one step closer, only inches away from Cas. His sour breath poured onto his face. He held the knife up to his neck. “And they cut. And sliced—“ he pressed the knife into Castiel’s flesh, causing a trickle of blood to begin pouring out of the wound. Cas refused to break eye contact with the crazed Angel. He would not show him weakness. “And they carved away the parts of me that were so vile and disgusting.” Methodius spat the last word.  
Methodious was right in Castiel’s face now. His grey eye locking with Cas’ blue pools. He pulled the blade away from Castiel’s neck, wiping it on his sleeve.  
“And then,” He whispered. “after years of torture—so many years of torment--someone came to visit me.” He smiled a wicked smile. “I was out of my mind, Cas. I couldn’t tell you who it was.” He laughed quietly, but no humor touched his dead eye. “And he said that I was finally pure.”  
He emphasized the word by dragging the knife he was holding across Castiel’s pectoral, causing a deep wound that began pouring blood, running down Cas’ side. Cas bit his tongue, trying not to give Methodius the satisfaction of a grunt—not even a sharp intake of breath. But damn, did the wound hurt. Methodius stepped back and continued his story.  
“And they said that because I was finally pure, and they believed that I was rededicated to the mission, I could go.” He turned to face Castiel. “On one condition, of course.” He dropped the knife back onto the table with a metallic clank. He went over to the steel cart and picked up a pair of forceps and walked slowly back to Cas.  
“So now it’s my job to deal with the others. The other angels who commit… terrible acts.” He opened the forceps and clamped them down on the flesh he had just sliced open, pulling the skin back.  
Despite fighting it as hard as he could, Castiel couldn’t help the gush of air that hissed out between his teeth. He was currently being skinned alive by a holy homophobe.  
“And it’s my job, my dear, dear brother, to do the same to you.”  
He began to tug on the other side of the wound, the flesh tearing back like an orange peel. A sound caught in Castiel’s throat as blood began to pour out of the wound, soaking his front and running down his leg.  
“It’s my privilege to help you find the error of your ways.” Methodius said, stepping back once more and turning to find a new instrument.  
Sweat began to gather on Castiel’s brow, stinging his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to think through the pain. He would not show weakness. He could not.  
Methodius returned with the thin blade and waived it in Castiel’s face.  
“It’s my job, Castiel, to help transform you. To turn you back into the respectable being you once were. To rid you of all your vileness. Your digustingness.”  
He plunged the blade into Castiel’s stomach, hitting his spine—he could feel the cracking of vertebrae. It was regular steel knife, so it could do no mortal damage, but it still hurt like hell. Cas bit his lower lip until he could taste his metallic blood, trying to breathe through the ripples of pain. Methodius twisted the blade, causing another mind-numbing wave of pain to wash over Castiel, making his vision to go white around the edges. He grunted softly and coughed, blood spouting from between his chapped lips. The knife was ripped from him and he could feel the pressure of it leaving his flesh and the warm blood flowing out of the wound.  
“There isn’t…anything…wrong with me…” Castiel bit out between shallow breaths.  
Methodius grinned and took Castiel’s face in his hands.  
“Dear brother. Dearest Castiel. There is much wrong with you. But don’t you worry those pretty blue eyes. I can fix you.” He said, emphasizing his words by plunging the knife into Castiel’s thigh.  
Castiel met his brother’s gaze and held it.  
“There’s…nothing…wrong--me.” He gasped. He didn’t look away. It was Methodius who broke the gaze, wandering back to the table of his torture implements and choosing a new weapon.  
Through the excruciating pain and the endless rage, there was one thing on Castiel’s mind: I have to protect Dean. 

 

It had been three days since Dean had heard from Cas. He wasn’t answering any of his prayers, no texts or phone calls. With each and every hour the knot in the pit of Dean’s stomach grew tighter. Something was terribly wrong. He knew it.  
“Okay Dean, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re driving worse than usual.” Sam said, peeking over at the speedometer of the Impala which was currently pushing 115.  
The country side on the way to Minnesota was whizzing past their window. Bobby had invited them to spend the weekend with him after their last hunt. He hadn’t seen his boys in almost a month, and he was dying to see them in flesh, with 10 fingers and toes. But the boys decided to head up a few days early and check out a potential haunting in Fargo on their way.  
“Shut up, Sam.” Dean snapped.  
He could feel Sam giving him one of his glares, but he didn’t really give a damn. He was on edge about Cas and he wanted more than anything to know he was okay. Why the fuck hadn’t he tried to contact him? Did he regret their night together? Dean thought the angel wanted him like that. A pang hit his chest when he realized that the Angel could be embarrassed of him. In anger, he pushed the pedal harder, causing Sam to shoot him another look.  
“You’ll hear from him soon.” Sam said gently once Dean let up on the pedal a little bit a few hundred miles later. “Don’t think I don’t know this is about Him.”  
“Forget it, Sammy.”  
“Dean, it’s okay, I understand. But I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll turn up.”  
“I said drop it.” Dean shouted, noting the sign for the next exit. “We’re stopping.”  
“Dean, calling him isn’t going to do anything.”  
“We need gas, Sammy. Jesus.”  
But what he really meant was he’d be calling Cas for the 40th time while he was pumping gas into the Impala.

The smell of burnt flesh crept into Castiel’s nostrils, rousing him. His hair was plastered with blood, one of his eyes was swollen shut. He was covered in stab wounds, patches of skin missing from his body. This round, Methodius had gotten creative with the hot fire pokers, branding words into his chest and back. Cas had stayed strong, fighting the urge to cry out with each excruciating kiss from the red iron. But it eventually became too much for him and he slipped into unconsciousness, where he dreamed of Dean.  
“Castiel…” Methodius called, sharpening his knife. “It’s time to wake up, sleeping beauty. Time to stop dreaming of that abomination of yours.”  
Anger prickled inside Cas, hearing Dean talked about like that. The hairs on his neck stood up.  
“…Not… an abomin…ation.” He wheezed out, fighting to stay conscious. “Love…him.”  
Methodius grinned his sickening grin and stoked the coals with the fire poker, strips of iron already heating up. Satisfied, he returned to Cas, getting sickeningly close. He ran a finger along Cas’ jaw line.  
“Did he make love to you, Castiel?” He purred. “Did he fuck you? Tell you you were special to him?”  
Castiel stayed silent, staring at Methodius.  
“Did he trick you into it, like a little whore?”  
Cass spit in Methodius’ face. He recoiled and laughed.  
“So much anger, Castiel. So much wrath. That’s a sin, you know.” He walked over to the hot coals and drew a poker from them, glowing red except for the pointed tip which was white-hot. “But never you worry.” He said, making his way back to Cas. “We’ll set you straight. We might even be able to burn it out of you. Right here! Tonight! Although…” He said, pausing. “What with the lack of willingness to speak to me, I don’t know how much progress can be accomplished, realistically.”  
Methodius started humming, taking his time walking behind Cas.  
“Did you like it when your whore fucked you, Cas?” He hissed,  
Castiel felt bile rise in his stomach. God no. Please, no.  
“Did he make you scream like a little girl?” He felt Methodius’ cold hands on his ass cheeks, pulling them apart, revealing his opening. “I can make you scream like that, too, Castiel.I can make you burn with wanting.”  
And with that, he plunged the hot poker into the sensitive flesh. The same intimate place that he had shared with Dean what felt like lifetimes ago. The space within him that caused him so much pleasure, so much happiness; not because the sex had felt damn good, but because it was something that he shared with Dean. With only Dean. His hunter.  
Waves of agony crashed over Cas, causing his body to shake and convulse. If he were human, it would have killed him. But Castiel was an angel of the lord, and he was receiving his punishment for being impure. Methodius continued to hum while he pushed the poker in deeper and deeper, literally lighting Cas’ insides on fire. He couldn’t help it this time. The physical pain was excruciating, but the pain in his chest was unbearable. What if he never got to see Dean again? No. He would survive this. He would get out of this somehow. He would return to Dean.  
“Love…him….Love…him.” He choked, tears escaping from him as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

Two more days passed without hearing a word from Cas. Dean got grumpier and grumpier and Sam couldn’t take another day in the car with him. He thanked God that Bobby’s was only 45 minutes away. He took over driving this morning, hoping that Dean would take the time to sleep on the way. He had barely gotten any rest over the last 5 days. He stayed up checking his phone every ten minutes and staring off into space. He glanced at Dean who was currently pressed against the window with his aviators on, snoring softly. At least he would have a few solid hours to fuel him.  
Twenty minutes later, Dean started to stir. Righting himself in the leather seat and readjusting his sunglasses.  
“How far are we?” He said, his voice rough with sleep.  
“Isn’t it starting to look familiar, Dean? We’re about 20 minutes out still.”  
Dean rubbed his face with his hands and stretched his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Ever since he had a 300 pound werewolf land on him wrong a few years ago he’d been having problems with it.  
“Let’s stop at Leanne’s. Get some coffee.” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the window.  
45 minutes later, the boys were pulling into the long gravel road that lead to Bobby’s house. Dean had 2 cups of coffee tucked between his knees in a cardboard holder, and another in his hand, which he took generous gulps from.  
“How can you drink that mud just straight up?” Sam asked, referring to the impossibly strong coffee from Leanne’s Diner. It was Dean’s favorite coffee place in the state, and possibly the country. Not only was their coffee ridiculously strong—seriously, you almost had to chew it, but they had the best apple pie he had ever eaten—aside from his mother’s of course.  
“It helps if you put a shot of whiskey in it” Dean said, smirking and pulling his flask from his inside jacket pocket.  
“Dean—“ Sam started, flashing him a disapproving look.  
But he never had a chance to finish his scolding.  
“Stop the car, Sammy!” Dean shouted, and was out the door before Sam had time to apply the brakes all the way.  
He watched his brother take off down the road, sprinting faster than he thought Dean was capable of. Then he realized what he was looking at. About 100 feet up the road, a crumpled figure lay in the gravel, bloodied and broken looking. Was that… Cas?


	4. Bonded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, back to the fluff! From here on out I'll add a trigger warning if the chapter ever deals with the goings on of the previous chapter. It should work out so that you can still get most of the plot of you skip said chapters.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> CC

The next two days were a blur for Dean. He remembers very little about the afternoon they found his angel, broken and bloodied. They took him into Bobby’s and fixed what they could—a dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist, 4 cracked ribs. In total they gave him 365 stitches—one for each day of the year Dean thought bitterly. The most sickening part was discovering the brands all over his body. Sam pointed out they were in Enochian, but without their translator conscious there was very little they could do to read them.   
Dean left his angel’s side only when he needed to pee or Bobby or Sam forced him to eat. Even then he’d barely pick at his food, lost in thought. By the third day, he was a nervous wreck. The dark circles under his eyes were frightening, and he was so on edge he jumped when the telephone rang. And when Dean Winchester is scared and hurt, he does the only thing he knows how to: makes everyone around him miserable. He was so grumpy that Sam had stopped trying to talk to him. Each “It’ll be alright man” and “He’ll wake up soon” was answered by a glare and a “fuck you”. But Sam knew not to take it personally. He had grown up with Dean’s temper, and knew the best thing to do to combat it was to simply ignore it.   
Dean was convinced that his Angel was never going to wake up. That he was in some sort of terrible, mojo-induced coma that would keep him trapped in Jimmy Novak’s body for the rest of eternity, and well, that just didn’t sit well with Dean. He started going through all the books Bobby had that even referenced angels, taking careful notes, trying to figure out who’s ass to kick. Of course Sam and Bobby helped wherever they could. But mostly, they just gave him space.   
That night, Bobby went to check on Dean before going to bed—like usual. He poked his head into the make-shift hospital room and spotted Dean, sitting in the armchair he had pulled to the side of the bed. A bottle of half-drunk beer hung loosely in his hand, his other clutching Cas’ in his lap. He was slumped over into the side of the chair, softly snoring. The creases of worry that had been set into his face like stone over the past three days had smoothed out. Bobby smiled, noting that it was the most relaxed the boy had looked since he burst through the door with the angel limp in his arms,. He hoped that Dean would sleep through the night; that he could have at least a few hours where the world wasn’t on his shoulders. The surrogate father crossed the room and grabbed an old blanket that his wife had knit—his favorite, and most prized possession. He went back to Dean and wrapped him up in it, patting his head before murmuring a gruff , “Night, kid.”.  
Dean was driving in the Impala with the windows down. The sun was starting to set, causing his surroundings to be cast in an orange light. He drove down a two-lane highway, past golden fields of wheat that swayed in the gentle breeze. “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” was playing through speakers that were older than the song was. A relaxed smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he hummed along with the music.   
With the rush of wings, he was aware he wasn’t alone in the car anymore.  
Dean slammed on the brakes as intensely blue eyes stared at him.   
“Jesus, Cas!” He shouted, rolling his head to look at the angel. “What the hell—“  
“Apologies, Dean.” The angel said flatly. “But I thought we should talk.”  
“Thought we should talk? About what?” Dean said, pulling off to the side of the road in a small clearing.   
Dean got out of the black car and leaned against the hood, enjoying the sun on his skin. Cas joined him. They stood in silence, Cas staring at Dean, the hunter looking out into the fields.   
“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked finally.   
“You flew all the way here to ask me where I’m going?” Dean scoffed, shaking his head.   
But then he thought about it. He had been driving for eternities, but the needle on his fuel gauge never dipped once—where was he going? He didn’t know. He was just driving. It all came rushing back to him.  
“I’m dreaming.” He breathed, running a hand through his short hair.   
“Yes.” Said the angel. He grabbed Dean’s hand and focused his blinding eyes on him once more. “Dean, I’m very ill.” He uttered softly.   
Dean turned to his angel, grabbing his face and searching in those pools of blue, drowning in them.   
“What’s wrong?” He asked gruffly, worry creasing his face. “How can I fix it?”  
“There isn’t anything you can do, Dean.” The angel said, removing Dean’s hands from his face and holding them. “I’m healing. Slowly. Do you remember when we made love?”   
Dean blushed at the awkward way the angel chose to describe their intense session over a week ago. “How could I forget?” He asked, seriously.   
“Dean…” The angel looked down, searching for words. Dean swallowed hard, aware that this was not going to be a light-hearted chat. “When we were together, something happened. I didn’t know it could happen between an angel and a human.”  
“Are you pregnant, Cas?” Dean asked seriously.   
The angel gave him a glare. “May I finish?”  
Dean nodded. It was an honest question—he didn’t know how that worked with angels.  
“When an angel mates with another angel, their graces become one.” He started, looking down between their hands. Dean was having trouble focusing. Was he really getting the talk from an angel right now? “They mix together—a lot like your genes. But they don’t create a new being, they simply go back into their host. The other night… I thought it was impossible. But it appears—“  
“Just spit it out Cas!” Dean urged, trying to rush the angel to the part where he told Dean how to fix it.   
Cas stared down at his feet and took a deep breath. “Dean, the night when we were together… it appears your soul fused with my grace.” He looked up into Dean’s sea glass eyes. “We’re…together now. Mates.” He was struggling for a way to explain it—there was no human word for it.   
Dean searched the angel’s face for any sign of humor—he’d surprised Dean before. After a minute of panicked silence, Dean urged “What’s the punch line, Cas?”   
The angel winced and turned away, breaking his hands free. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Dean.” The angel bit. Dean instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. That was so not the right thing to say. He put his hands on the angel’s shoulders  
“Hey, I’m sorry.” He said, turning Cas back around to look at him and enclosing him in his arms. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.” He said against his hair. Cas took a deep breath and Dean could feel his shoulders relax some.   
“I’m sorry, Dean.” He said, turning sad eyes to the hunter. “I didn’t know that it could happen.”   
Dean grabbed his angel’s chin, and looked into his eyes. God, they were beautiful. There was no other word for it. They were so blue. Bluer than the ocean and the sky combined, and right now, they were so sad.   
“Cas…” He murmured before pulling him in for a kiss. It wasn’t the same kind of kiss as the night before, it wasn’t hungry and desperate. This kiss was a different kind of amazing. Instead of heat gathering in his stomach, it gathered in the Hunter’s chest, his heart swelling. Dean kissed his angel and said all the words he couldn’t manage. It was tender and delicate, a precious thing that needed to be cradled and nursed. It was love.   
He pulled Cas closer and savored his warmth. He never wanted to leave this moment. If Dean found out that he had actually died and this was his heaven, well he would have been perfectly content with that. Their lips parted, Dean putting his forehead to his angel’s as they smiled shyly at each other. “I love you” was resting on his tongue, ready to play across his lips and be let out into the open. “Cas.” He breathed.

Dean woke up with a soft blanket wrapped around him, his angel’s fingers still laced with his own. Light was beginning to shine into the room, making patterns on the ancient floor boards. Dean’s chest swelled as he looked at his angel, whom he’d literally been to hell and back with. Whom he loved, very much. His breathing caught in his throat as he made his realization—that has love for Cas was officially out of the friendzone range and tipping the scales at ridiculously, disgustingly, out of his mind in love. He leaned forward a pressed a kiss to the angel’s forehead--and could have sworn there was a ghost of a smile on his lips—before settling back into the armchair, trying to catch another hour or two of sleep before he hit the books with Sammy and Bobby.


	5. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> This chapter deals with sexual assault. Please read the next chapter if this is a sensitive subject for you.
> 
> This chapter was incredibly hard for me to write. I rewrote it 3 times, trying to make if perfect. This is the closest I feel like I can get right now. I'll probably revise and update at some point, but for now I'm pretty content with it. Thanks for coming along for the ride and all the kudos! Makes me very confident in my story. :) I'll update as soon as I write more. 
> 
> CC

“I’ve got a lead.” Dean said around the pen in his mouth as Sammy handed him a dark cup of coffee. He still sat in the armchair next to his angel, but had pulled a table up next to it to stack books and papers on. “What do we know about grace?” Dean asked, looking up at his brother.  
Sam made a face. “Grace? As in, like, angel juice?”  
“Exactly. What do we know about it?” Dean turned back to the ancient book he had in his lap, marking something down on the paper next to him.   
Sam pursed his lips, thinking. “Well…” He started. “We know that it’s infinite. A renewable energy source. I read something that said that angels are made from the stars themselves, so if that’s true, then that’s a hell of a lotta power.” Sam smiled softly, he always got a little excited when he could whip out his infinite knowledge of all things supernatural. “And we know that it’s like the angel equivalent to a soul. It’s their essence, what makes them… them.”   
Dean looked up again, his eyes searching for something that couldn’t be seen. “Do we know anything about angels interacting with humans?” He asked, thoughtful.  
Sam snorted. “I’d say we know a decent amount.” He said, nodding his head towards the unconscious angel.   
Dean shook his head. “No, I mean, their grace and my—er our, souls?”   
Sam studied his brother, putting the pieces together. “Dean, do you think when you guys…” He looked down, faltering. “…that your soul and his grace—“  
“Bonded.” Dean said, flatly. “I know so. Cas told me.”   
Sam shook his head hard, not sure if he heard Dean correctly. “Dude, either you need to get some sleep or—“  
“That’s where it happened.” Dean murmured, staring off into space, focused on the angel’s face. “He visited me last night. In a dream. He said he was really sick, Sammy.” He turned back to his brother, fear clouding his eyes. “He said he’s healing, but he doesn’t know how long it will take.”   
Sam’s heart broke for his older brother. He hadn’t seen him this upset, this conflicted since their father died several years ago. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed it. “That’s a good thing though,” he said gently, trying to pump some positivity into the room. “He’s healing. And he’s as safe as he can be here. I mean, with you alone here to kick anyone’s ass who messes with your boyfriend—“ Dean’s head snapped up to glare at his brother. “I’m just saying, Dean,” He continued, forcing back a smile. “He’s in good hands. He’ll be good as new in no time.”  
Dean grunted and turned the page of his book. Satisfied, Sam shuffled off to the kitchen to get more coffee. 

After another 4 hours straight of watching over his angel, Dean decided he had earned himself a little walk. He wouldn’t go far. He ended up not getting farther than the wrap-around porch of the old colonial. His anxiety wouldn’t let him go any further—like an invisible leash were latched around his neck, keeping him tethered within a 200-foot radius of Cas. It was odd that it didn’t bother him, Dean thought, rolling a cigarette. He really wasn’t the commitment type. When the dude hung around too long the next morning after a one-night-stand he started to itch. But, once again, it was different with his angel.   
He busied himself with lighting the end of the cigarette which dangled loosely in his lips. He took a pull and blew it out through his nose, closing his eyes and turning his face up into the afternoon sunlight. He wished he had thought to grab his jacket on his way out—summer was quickly turning to autumn. He took another drag and leaned against the railing, his hands clasped in front of him.  
“Smoking ain’t good for you, boy.” Bobby said, sidling up beside Dean. “But then again, neither is life sometimes.”  
A bitter smile tugged at Dean’s lips as he blew more smoke through his nose. “It’s supposed to be my secret.” He said quietly, looking out over the junk car lot.   
“Ain’t the only secret you got, is it boy?” Bobby asked gruffly, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He knew. But he wanted to hear Dean say it.   
Dean took the cigarette out of his mouth and fiddled with it, suddenly growing antsy. Finally he put his hands up and laughed a humorless laugh. “Got me.” He said, growing frustrated. “Games over. Everyone can go home now. Dean’s a fag.” The word hung in the air like a lead balloon. It felt dirty coming out of his mouth.   
“Boy, I oughta smack you for thinking you had to hide that from me. I’ve known since you were 10, Dean. You ain’t the only hard-ass hunter who plays for the same team, neither.”   
Dean blinked up at Bobby. So not the reaction he was expecting. “Idjit.” The old hunter said as he pulled his eldest surrogate into his arms and ruffled his hair. Dean stood frozen, in a state of shock. How was it possible that he had come out to the three most important people in his life and it had gone off without a hitch? Well, almost, considering his angel was in a coma. A thought occurred to him.   
“Bobby,” He said, turning to him. “Did… Did Dad know?”  
Bobby gave him a sad smile. “That I don’t know, Dean. I’m sorry.”  
He smiled back at Bobby. “It’s okay. Not all that important, I guess.” But it was. Dean wanted more than anything to know that his father knew.   
Dean finished off his cigarette and took a few calming breaths of fresh air. His head was buzzing and he couldn’t tell if it was from the nicotine or the whole coming-out-as-gay thing. He wanted to go back inside.   
“Thanks Bobby.” He said. “For everything.”

That night, Cas woke up.   
Dean was sitting at his usual post, reading through a passage he found in Finnish on angel’s grace when suddenly Cas began coughing. Dean jumped up, the book scattering from his lap, and bent over the angel. He grabbed his glass of water from the table and helped Cas sit up so he could drink—he figured the angel would be thirsty after a week. The angel gulped the water down and his coughing went away. He took a shuddering breath. Dean crouched down to his level and grabbed his hands.  
“Hey.” He said awkwardly, not knowing how to start the conversation. He ran a hand through Cas’ messy hair. “Hey, how are you feeling?”   
The angel said nothing. He just sat there, staring at his hands.   
“Cas? You with me, buddy?” Dean asked sharply.  
The angel pulled his hands out of the hunter’s grip and leaned back against the head board, pulling his knees into his chest and putting his head on his knees. Dean knew that pose from when Sammy was a kid and would go days without talking. It was ‘the shut down’.   
“Cas?” Dean asked desperately, rubbing the angel’s back. “C’mon, buddy.” He said.   
But it was no use. The angel sat there in that position like a statue. Despite Dean’s attempts to make contact, he didn’t respond. So, Dean continued to sit with his angel, stroking his hair and talking at him. Three hours later, Sam entered the room to drag Dean away for his first meal that day. He stopped short once he saw the angel sitting up.   
“Cas!” He exclaimed, stepping into the room. “You’re awake!” But his smile quickly faltered when he saw the expression on his Brother’s face. There was something really wrong here.   
“He won’t say anything, Sammy.” Dean said quietly, his voice just barely a whisper. “He’s been awake for hours and he won’t even look at me.”   
Sam looked at the angel curled up in the fetal position, head hidden away, to his brother sitting forward, utterly exasperated. Sam’s heart broke for his brother once again and he grabbed onto his arm, hauling him up out of the chair.   
“C’mon Dean, let’s go get some fresh air.” Sam said.   
Dean didn’t even fight it, letting himself being pulled out of the room, staring blindly at his angel. 

It had been another day. Another day of Cas curled up, staring at nothing. Another day of Dean begging him to talk, to blink, to do something. Bobby and Sam had gone into town to pick up more supplies—bandages, antiseptic, whiskey. Dean stayed back, pacing the floor of the make-shift hospital room. Overwhelmed by his feelings and taking the typical Winchester route, he turned to anger. He threw the table with the books over, crashing them to the floor.  
“Dammit, Cas!” He shouted, kicking a book across the room. “Fucking talk! Say something! Do something! Tell me you’re alright!” He stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. The angel did nothing. He sat there, unblinking, staring at the wall. Dean made a frustrated noise and stomped out of the room. He had been loyal as ever, staying by the angel’s side for almost a week, and the asshole couldn’t even look him in the eyes.   
Dean went out to the lot to have a smoke, griping the whole way there. If anything, the nicotine high had put him more on edge. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had more than 2 cigarettes in a week. He stomped back to the house, flinging the door open, ready to really let his angel have it. Dean stopped. And blinked. Cas wasn’t there anymore. His anger quickly turned to panic as he ran to where the angel just was, as if he would find him hiding under the bed. “Cas?” He called into the empty house. He paused for a second. Was that…the shower running?   
He walked briskly to the bathroom, pounding on the door. “Cas?” He called. “You in there?” When there was no answer, Dean opened the door. The angel sat fully clothed with his knees tucked under his chin in the tub. The water drummed against the fabric, causing it to cling to his body. Through the white t-shirt, Dean could see all the brands that had been burnt into his flesh.   
“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean asked, exasperated. He went to go help the angel out of the tub, but when his hands went under the stream of the shower, he jerked back, the water was scalding. “Jesus, you’re going to burn yourself you moron!” He snapped, quickly turning the knobs to a cooler setting. A sob escaped the angel as he tucked himself smaller, rocking slowly.   
“Cas, what is it?” Dean asked, features softening. The angel sobbed harder, hiding his face. Dean took a deep breath and kicked off his boots. He got into the tub behind the angel, wrapping him up in his arms. “Hey,” He said softly, pulling his angel as close as he possibly could.  
“I’m sorry, Dean.” The angel sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”  
“Hey, don’t cry, Cas,” Dean hushed, pressing a kiss to his wet hair. But it only made the angel sob harder. Dean was no good at this. “Let’s turn this water off, huh?” He said, reaching for the faucet. The angel’s head snapped up and he grabbed Dean’s hand.   
“No, leave it.” He said between gasps. “I can feel it.”  
Confused, Dean brought his hand back to his angel, placing it to the side of his head, tucking it into his chest. 

The angel had sat for more than 24 hours, staring off into space, trying to focus on remembering how to function. Every rattling breath hurt his chest. He was in a daze. He felt empty, hollow. He didn’t have the strength to say anything and every time he tried he felt like he broke down even more. He could feel himself splitting at the seams, unraveling, coming undone.   
“Cas.” Dean said sternly, dragging him from within himself. “What happened?”  
“Dean, Methodius… he found me and…” And what? He couldn’t make himself say it. It was embarrassing and shameful and he deserved it for being the abomination that he was. A voice in the back of his head stopped him. Not an abomination he urged to himself. He was in love. There was nothing terrible about love. Love was beautiful. Love was creation.  
Dean grabbed the collar of Cas’ shirt and pulled it down, revealing the brand in enochian.   
“Is that who did this to you?” He demanded. “I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch—“  
“Dean, you’re hurting me!” Cas whimpered, his body reliving his brother’s fingers scraping against his flesh, the kiss of the iron. He shivered and choked back a sob.   
Dean let go of the angel’s shirt like it was electrocuting him. “Jesus, I’m sorry!” He said, wrapping his arms around Cas and pulling him close. Cas’ breathed leveled out as he listened to Dean’s heartbeat, attempting to calm himself down. The words were jumbled around his head. He knew he needed to say something, but he didn’t know how. Dean grabbed his chin and looked at him with his beautiful seaglass eyes. “Cas, please, tell me what happened.”  
He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. “Dean…the angels… they know. They know what am I am and they… punished me. Violated me.” He lifted up his shirt and showed Dean the brand. “They marked me Dean.” Tears began to pool in the angel’s blue eyes again. “It says ‘abomination’.” He dropped his shirt, a sob escaping past his lips. He felt so…broken. It felt like he was wrapped in a fog that he would never be able to claw through. How could he have possibly let this happen? If he had just controlled himself better around the human…. But it was impossible. Even at his weakest, Castiel was unable to deny it. He loved the hunter. The man whom he had raised from perdition. He took a shuddering breath and tried to push aside the terrible guilt he felt; for not talking with Dean, for putting him in danger. 

Dean’s vision clouded with rage every time he saw the brands that were left on his angel’s flawless skin. His normally intense eyes seemed grey, full of sorrow, as he turned them up to Dean. Cas shivered despite the hot water showering down on him. “It says ‘abomination’,” He said quietly. Once again Dean watched as the angel physically collapsed into himself like a building being demolished. Sobs wracked his body, his shoulders shaking.   
“Cas…” Dean breathed, drawing him close. “Cas, baby, I’m so sorry.”   
The hunter held his angel close, sheltering him from the world as best as he could. The angel let himself go, threw himself into the pit of emotion that was growing every single minute. He told Dean what he could between sobs. That the angels knew they slept together. Somehow they knew. That they tortured him for what felt like eternities, violated him, used him up. Dean listened intently, holding him as tight as he could without hurting his wounds. When Cas couldn’t say anymore, he just cried—he cried because he could. For the first time in eternity he could. He could lower his guard and be fragile with Dean.   
“It’s okay, Baby. I’m here” Dean said, rocking them gently. He didn’t know what else to do to comfort the inconsolable angel, so he started humming “Hey Jude”, the song his mother used to sing for him when he had nightmares, sharing his special song with someone just as special to him. Finally Cas got all his crying out. When his breathing was regular again, Dean shut off the shower head and helped Cas out of the tub.   
“We should probably get those wet clothes off.” Dean said, noting the shivering angel. He moved closer, starting to remove Cas’ shirt. Dean hated how the angel cringed and shrunk away from his touch. “It’s okay.” He whispered, placing gentle kisses where his fingers grazed. “There.” He said, getting the shirt over the angel’s head. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He smiled at Cas and kissed the tip of his nose. He wrapped the angel up in a towel and did his best to dry him off without hurting his wounds. Dean removed his own shirt, patting himself dry with a second towel. He went to the sink to shave off the beard he had accumulated over the last week, frequently meeting Cas’ gaze in the mirror and looking down shyly. He wasn’t used to the butterflies in the stomach feeling yet.   
“They say: vile, disgusting, sinner and the angel equivalent to faggot” Cas said quietly, meeting Dean’s gaze in the mirror. “The other brands.” He added, when Dean made a confused face. “The ones on my back.”  
Dean turned around and studied the pale angel, finally reaching out and pulling him close. “They’ll heal.” He said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Fade away.”  
Cas shifted and placed his hand over the mark on Dean’s shoulder.   
“Yours didn’t.” He said sadly, gazing up at Dean.   
Dean placed his hand over his angel’s and laced their fingers together. “Mine came from love. Yours… no one who loves you would mark you like that. ….I would never mark you like that.”   
The angel closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. Dean spun him around and moved the towel away from his burns. “Beautiful.” He said, kissing the first one. “Brave.” He breathed across the second before brushing it with his lips, ever so softly.  
“Dean, what are you doing?” The angel asked. Dean swore he heard the hint of a smile in the angel’s voice. He continued.   
“Loyal” He kissed the one on the middle of his back, causing a shiver to run up the angel’s spine. He ran his tongue down the shiver, causing the angel’s breath to hitch. “Damn sexy.” He growled, kissing the burn on his lower back tenderly. He stood and spun Cas back around and met his gaze. The hunter placed his hands on the angel’s marked chest ever so gently.   
“Mate.” He said, pulling the angel in for a passionate kiss.


	6. Good Byes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of updates lately. I've been struggling with writing, but I think I've finally got it back now. As always, happy to read your comments and constructive crits. Thanks for all the kudos! 
> 
> CC

The days ran together for Castiel. There was an ache that rested in his bones, bloomed out from his chest and seemed to just radiate sorrow, worthlessness. He felt like he could never really get a lungful of air; like he was miles under the ocean and getting crushed by the pressure. Every once in a while he would catch Dean watching him; staring at him from across the room with his arms folded, hip propped against the door jam. Cas hated when he was being watched, those avocado colored eyes burning through him like the lasers Dean was always talking about needing for hunts.   
He was able to hold himself together during the day, though he really didn’t say much. He communicated mostly through shrugs and gentle nods. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to his friends. He just couldn’t. Every time he opened his mouth, attempting to force sound to come out, nothing would happen. He would sit there with his lips parted like an idiot, struggling to breathe. He was almost positive that during those times he was, in fact, emitting sound at such a high frequency only dogs or bats would be able to hear him. That counted for something, right?  
They had decided to stay at Bobby’s until they were certain Cas was good for travel. Dean had moved them into the room Bobby had kept for the boys and wary travelers over the years. He was originally planning on sleeping on the window seat, not wanting to seem too eager, but Cas had mustered up the courage to ask the hunter to curl up in bed with him one night, and that was that. Most nights, Cas lay awake in the hunter’s arms, watching Dean sleep until the sun started to rise.

“It would just be for a few days.” Sam pouted over his coffee mug. “It’s only three hours away. C’mon man, I’m dying here.” He was referring to the possible poltergeist case he had scrounged up the night before, just a few towns north of Bobby’s. He was trying to find a nice way to tell Dean that he needed to get the hell away from here for a few days.   
Dean was leaning against the counter, one boot crossed over the other, staring at nothing in particular. He had managed to sleep through the night the last two nights in a row, but he still didn’t exactly feel rested. His deep-seeded worry for his angel just seemed to grow with each and every day, and Sammy was painfully aware of that fact. That’s why he was trying to convince Dean to leave for a few days. Dean loved hunting and projects, and Sam had spent enough time stuck in the Impala to know that when his older brother’s mind wasn’t preoccupied, he worried. And when he worried, he got down right grouchy.  
“I dunno, Sammy.” The older brother said, lifting his malachite eyes to his little brother’s. “I don’t think I should leave Cas just yet….”  
Sam huffed. “I really think you need to go, Dean. Cas will be fine with Bobby, you know that.”   
Dean shifted his weight. “It’s not that I don’t trust Bobby, Sam, it’s just…. I just feel like I need to be here. Can we stop using the sentence, “I feel” now? It’s making me itchy.” He absently scratched at his arm as if to prove his point.   
“Just come on the hunt with me.” Sam said. “Please. We never get to do Poltergeists, dude. Like, ever. It’s gonna be a good one.” Sam noted that his brother still wasn’t looking at him. “I can feel it.” He said, smiling warmly, a glint in his eye.  
Dean made a frustrated noise and pushed himself away from the counter. “Dammit.” He muttered, walking out of the kitchen to go find the angel and talk it over with him—which was an annoying extra step that he had never had to deal with before now.   
Sam smiled triumphantly, stirring a little more sugar into his bitter coffee.

Dean found Cas where he always did during the day: sitting on the window seat of their bedroom, staring out the window. His knees were pressed against his chin in what was just the way he sat now. Dean noted sadly that it looked as through the angel were trying to physically hold himself together.   
They had talked very little since the night Cas woke up. Dean talked at him all the time, but never got a response. But he was resilient, and wasn’t willing to take silence for an answer. Dean talked at his angel whenever he could—which was hard, as Dean was a man of few words. Sam was the touchy-feely Winchester, everyone new that. But Sam had noted that he read once that mothers who worried about their children not learning how to talk at an age that was developmentally appropriate, which was usually between the ages of one and two (C’mon Sammy, get to the damn point) were instructed by speech therapists to simply talk at their children. Describe everything that was happening around them. So Dean tried that tactic, babbling away, awkwardly at first, trying to get a reaction out of the angel.   
“Hey, bucko.” Dean beamed as he entered the room. “Got a question for you.”  
Like usual, Cas didn’t move from his spot. He continued to look out over the car lot from the cracked window. Dean took it in stride though, sitting beside the angel on the window seat and rubbing his shoulders in small circles.   
“Sammy found a case, and he really wants me to come with. Like, really bad.” He gave Cas a little lopsided grin. “It’s only a few hours away, and it’s just a standard ghost-busting, shouldn’t take more than a couple of days….” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder. “Would you mind if…” Dean was cut off when the angel turned to face him, his eyes shimmering beautifully in the light coming from the window.   
The angel smiled lightly and gave Dean a quick peck on the lips. “Go.” He said simply.   
Dean gave his head a hard jerk and looked back up to those gorgeous eyes. He placed a hand on Cas’ cheek, the perpetual 5-o’clock shadow tugging at his palm. “Are you sure, Cas?” He said, surprised that the angel had even looked at him, let alone said something.   
Cas leaned into his touch, closing his eyes contently. “Positive. I’ll be fine.”   
Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times with wide eyes and Cas absently wondered if he too were emitting a sound only dogs or bats could hear. 

In an hour, they were gone.   
Dean had promised the angel that he would check in as soon as they were settled into the motel, the angel nodding knowing it was more for the hunter’s benefit than his own. Sam had to practically drag him away from Cas once the car was loaded up. Dean stood there awkwardly, duffle slung over his shoulder, staring down at his feet. Cas grabbed his chin and kissed him deeply, nipping his bottom lip, causing a pink flush to crawl up his neck.   
“I’ll miss you.” The angel whispered against his cheek. And he meant it.   
And now he stood in their bedroom, watching the Impala pull out of the driveway through the cracked window. He felt hurt. And angry. And just generally uncomfortable. Dean was leaving him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew that if he had begged the hunter to stay like he had wanted to, and he had wanted to more than he wanted his next breath, that the hunter would have stayed, no questions asked. But, Dean… he had earned this. He had been so resilient, so gentle, so patient with Cas. When Cas was lost in the middle of the ocean, focusing on remembering how to breathe through the pain, Dean would magically appear, chattering about a piece he had just replaced on the Impala or something nerdy that Sam had just said. For a few minutes Cas could feel himself being pulled from the suffocating pain. He would focus on what Dean was animatedly talking about, his mouth turned up in that adorable lopsided grin, eyes crinkling at the corner, and for just a few moments, Cas could breathe easier. Cas could feel.  
“It’ll only be for a few days, kid.” Bobby rumbled from behind. “Want anything to eat?”  
Cas turned and regarded the older hunter, cocking his head. Bobby was just about to turn around and leave, understanding that Cas had been through a lot and not expecting an answer. But he was startled when the angel opened his mouth.   
“Bobby.” He said, the tiniest hint of humor in his voice. “I’m as old as the universe itself. I don’t think it’s necessary for you to call me ‘kid’.”   
Bobby barked a laugh and it was one of the most genuine sounds Cas had heard in his extensive life. When his laughing subsided he managed, “You sound just like Sammy.”

Cas spent the day looking through old books, trying to preoccupy his mind while Dean was gone. He pulled books from the random stacks scattered throughout the house, stopping and flipping through a few pages whenever the cover looked interesting. Bobby would come find him once in a while and ask if he wanted anything. Cas would just shake his head, smiling softly, and go back to his books.   
He finally found an old, weathered copy of a wildflower guide (Karen’s, Bobby explained) and was contently flipping through it, curled up on the couch in the study. He loved the way the pages felt in his fingers; delicate and fragile, but still intact. Like him. Every once in a while he’d come across a scribbled note in a margin, a sketch hastily scratched and shoved between the pages. He even found a few pressed flowers in the middle.   
Cas curled up in his window seat, letting the afternoon sun warm his skin. He imagined himself growing roots and planting himself there in that spot. With each breath, Cas imagined the roots plunging themselves deeper into the ground, soaking up nutrients and healing the wounds that couldn’t be seen. He imagined the sun washing over his body, lighting up every dark corner, bringing everything out to the open. He shivered and took a deep breath as a tear ran from the corner of his eye. He was fixable. He could be healed.   
The slam of a car door brought him back. He leaned forward to look out the window, noting that the impala was sitting in front of the house. The brothers had been gone for only a few hours. Something had gone wrong. Cas threw himself off the window seat, preparing to run down the stairs when he heard frantic footsteps outside the door. They paused and the door swung inward, Dean bursting in.  
“Cas!” He practically screamed, panting. “An angel took Sam!” His eyes were wild with worry, his skin paler than normal.  
“Methodius.” Cas breathed, feeling all the light leave his body. He placed his hand to his mouth and looked down, not able to meet the hunter’s gaze.  
“Who?” Dean growled, stepping closer to Cas and grabbing his shoulders. His eyes glazed over with rage and made Cas shiver. “Who’s the sonuva bitch—“  
“DEAN.” The angel all but yelled. “Please don’t hold me like that. You’re hurting me.”   
Dean looked at the angel and loosened his grip. “Sorry.” He muttered, taking a deep breath. He rubbed his hands over his face and sat heavily on the edge of their bed. “Cas, I don’t get it, what do they want with Sammy?”  
The angel hugged himself. “Dean…”   
He didn’t know how to communicate his sorrow to his hunter. Cas knew exactly why his brothers took Sam. They were using him to get to Cas. To bring him back to heaven, to live out his sentence. His torture. The angel began to shake.   
“Dean…” He said with a shaking voice. “I’m so sorry Dean… it’s all my fault.” He felt tears gather in his eyes. “I should have known better, then to think that we could be together….”  
“What are you talking about, Cas?” Dean asked in a gentler tone.   
Cas took a shuddering breath, trying desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes. “Dean, my brothers… they’re convinced that I’m broken. Defective. Something is wrong with me.”  
“What do you mean?” Dean asked, scowling. “Because you’re…gay?”  
“I’m not really gay Dean. My vessel is male, but I’m neither male nor female. I simply am.”  
“Oh.” Dean said shyly.   
“No, Dean, my brothers are angry with me because… Well, it’s quite difficult to explain.” He was shaking violently now, remembering the feel of the blade cutting through his body, blood running down his skin. Dean put a comforting hand on the angel’s shoulder.  
“Try.” Dean said simply, looking into Cas’ azure eyes.   
The angel looked down, shifting uncomfortably. “Dean, the angels want to imprison me because… what I do here… being with you… it’s considered treasonous.” He moved Dean’s hand to his chest, pressing it against the brand that read “abomination” and winced at the burn. “This is because I… I love a human.” He swallowed nervously, but held Dean’s gaze.  
Dean’s ears turned a little red, but he returned the angle’s gaze. He took one of the angel’s hands and squeezed it. They sat in silence, both deep in thought.   
“I have to turn myself over.” The angel whispered finally.   
Dean scoffed. “Cas, no. That would be suicide.”  
“Perhaps that’s the best option, Dean.” The angel said quietly, pulling his hand free to hug himself—a nervous habit he had picked up over the last few days.   
There was a beat. A breath’s worth of time when Dean thought he hadn’t heard the angel correctly. It was impossible. Cas was the strongest person he’d ever met—how could he be crumbling like this right before his eyes.  
“Cas—“ Dean breathed. “What are you saying, man?”  
“Dean… I’m weak. By allowing myself to be with you, I’ve put you and your brother in danger.” The angel shivered. “Sam’s disappearance is my doing.”  
“Cas, that’s not true—“  
The angel rose, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “I have to go back. I have to face my sentence, Dean. To protect you.”  
For a moment, Dean stopped breathing. How dare his angel threat to leave him again. How many hours had the man spent worrying about his angel, wondering if he’d ever see him again? How many days had he spent praying to the angel, begging for him to come back, to make him feel whole again, if only for a moment. His angel was running through his fingertips.  
“Dammit Cas!” The hunter exploded, fear tightening his stomach. “I can’t have you disappearing again!” He stood toe-to-toe with the angel, his fists clenched. Cas absently wondered if Dean would hit him. After a moment: “Cas I… I can’t do it without you, man. I need you to be here with me. To help me.” He said softly, grasping the angel’s hands.   
“Dean, I can’t even help myself these days.” Cas said quietly, unable to meet the hunter’s gaze, a familiar prickle in his eyes.   
“Then let’s just be fucked up together, Cas.” Dean pleaded, his eyes begging for the angel to stay. “I need you.” He said before closing the gap between their lips.  
His lips said everything Dean couldn’t, all the proclamations that were on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t find their way past his teeth. Dean kissed his angel lovingly, begging him to stay. To not leave him alone in this crazy, fucked up world that he didn’t understand, because the angel helped him understand little things, like love and friendship and loyalty.   
Cas’ hands found their place behind Dean’s neck, locking himself there. He pressed as much of his body as he could against the hunter, the other man’s arms locking around his waist. He nibbled Dean’s bottom lip, sending shivers down both their spines. Dean made a moan in the back of his throat and pulled Cas impossibly close, Cas’ fingers tugging at the hem of Dean’s shirt. Dean tugged off the faded Metallica tee over his head, tossing it in the corner of the room somewhere and started working on the buttons of Cas’, planting kisses down the angel’s jaw and neck, casing low moans. The angel removed his hands and held them.   
“Please Dean,” He breathed, “Let me keep it on?”  
Dean’s heart broke. He knew the angel was referring to the brands on his chest that were mostly healed thanks to his angel juice, but leaving scars. Dean studied the angel’s captivating cornflower eyes, getting lost in them. He gently pulled his hands away and continued working on the buttons, finally opening the shirt and sliding it off down the angel’s shoulders. Cas shivered, and looked up shyly at dean through lashes a mile long.   
“Cas.” Dean breathed before planting a sizzling kiss on the angel’s lips. “You’re so…” He didn’t know how to tell him. How to tell the angel that Dean thought that he was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen—or ever would see. He didn’t know how to tell the angel that he loved every inch of him. Dean loved the angel’s inky hair, his perpetual five o’clock shadow, his hypnotizing eyes that were the color of the sky and the ocean and maybe even turquoise all mixed together creating an entirely new color. He loved his thin lips that were always chapped. The look he made when he didn’t quite understand if Dean was joking or not. The spark in his eye when something caught his interest.   
Dean kissed along the scar, his lips and breath lingering. “You’re everything, Cas.” He said finally, emotion choking his voice.   
The angel grabbed the hunter’s hand, placing it on his own face. Then he tugged Dean closer, crashing their lips together. Both of the men gnawed at each other, hungrily capturing the other’s lips and devouring them. The kisses were desperate, needy. Dean moved them to the bed blindly, sitting and pulling the angel on top of him. He moaned low in his throat.   
Cas straddled Dean’s thighs, their erections touching, causing both men to tremor.   
“Jesus, Cas….” Dean babbled between kisses.   
Dean rolled them to the other side of the bed so he was covering Cas’ body with his own, and ran his hands along the angel’s chest. His tongue came down to taste the scar, moving to one of the angel’s nipples and taking it in his mouth, causing the angel to thrust his hips into Dean’s.   
Dean kissed down the angel’s stomach, hovering just above the waistband of Cas’ slacks, fumbling with the buttons.   
“Dean—“ The angel breathed, grinding against the hunter. He lifted his hips slightly so Dean could pull his pants off, then he quickly did the same with his own. Once again there was only a small amount of fabric separating the two of them. It was too much for Dean. He pulled Cas’ boxer briefs away, revealing his impressive erection, then quickly did the same with his own. The sheets tickled their skin in all the right places. He shivered, looking at Cas, drunk on lust.  
“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” He growled before kissing the other man’s thighs, causing the angel to shiver under him. “So fucking hot.” He said, kissing the head of Cas’ impressive erection.  
And then he took Cas into his mouth, causing the angel to cry out. Dean sucked and licked, throwing the angel into absolute bliss. He loved that he could do this to his angel. Cause him to writhe in pleasure and temporarily lose his mind, forget his worries and focus on loving and being loved.   
“More!” Cas begged, thrusting his hips into Dean’s mouth.   
Before Dean knew it, he was digging through the drawer of the bed-side table, hunting for the bottle of lube he had stashed there for just-in-case. He quickly slicked his fingers and pressed at the angel’s tight hole, drawing little circles around him. Then he pressed his finger in, a little rougher than he did the first time, eliciting a cry from the angel, and a raising of the hips.   
“God Cas,” Dean said. “You’re so fucking tight.”   
“More.” The angel whimpered, thrusting himself down on Dean’s fingers.. “Please, more.” He said desperately.  
Dean added a second finger, brushing against the bundle of nerves inside his angel as he crashed his lips to Cas’. The angel screamed into Dean’s mouth, and he grinned wickedly. He thrust his fingers into Cas, at the same time rubbing himself against the angel, causing both of them to tremble and moan with pleasure. Finally, he added a third finger to the mix, thrusting wildly, causing Cas to let out a strangled cry each and every time his fingers brushed the sweet spot.   
When he knew he was ready, Dean turned Cas over, his face pressing against the mattress, his ass high in the air. He draped himself over his angel, wrapping his arms around his middle, lining himself up with Cas.   
“Please.” Cas sobbed. “Please, Dean…”  
At that, Dean plunged into his angel, ripping a cry from both men. He pounded into him with bruising force, and Cas thrust back just as hard. Dean tried to pour his very essence into the angel, giving him strength and courage to survive in Heaven, where Dean knew he’d be tortured once more. All because of him. Because the angel loved him.   
He grabbed the angel’s huge erection and started counter-pumping his fist with his thrusts, grunting as Cas thrust onto his own member.   
“Jesus Cas” He moaned. “So fucking good….”  
He knew Cas was close, the hunter himself feeling the tightening in his stomach. He readjusted, pressing himself against the angel’s prostate with each and every thrust.   
“Dean!” The angel screamed, surprised at the possibility of this feeling even better.  
Dean felt the angel’s body start to seize around him as he let himself go to pleasure, milking Dean, sobbing. Dean let himself go shortly after, gripping the angels shoulders and letting out a roar as he claimed his angel. His angel. The love of his life. His essence.   
He collapsed on top of Cas, trying to angle his body so the brunt of his weight wasn’t on the angel, as they both heaved for breath. Once Dean could see straight, he released himself from Cas, causing them both to gasp, and rolled to his side, feeling around for a discarded shirt and moping himself up. He re-settled himself and pulled the angel close, breathing in his scent.   
“I love you, Castiel.” He breathed softly, burying his lips in the brunette’s hair.   
“I love you too, Dean.” The angel said, grabbing the man’s hands. “More than you’ll ever be able to understand.”   
There were several moments of silence where the couple reflected on everything they had been through together.   
“Will you sing to me, Dean?” The angel asked innocently.   
“What do you want me to sing?” The hunter asked, his cheeks flushing some.   
“The song you sang to me before. The one your mother sang to you when you were a child.”   
Dean nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He took a deep breath, his voice shaky at first.  
“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad,  
Take a sad song, and make it better….”  
Dean sang softly, stroking the angel’s hair, his voice getting stronger as he went. By the time he was finished, the angel was asleep, his breathing even. Dean pressed another kiss to his head. I’ll love you more than you could ever possibly understand, he thought, forcing the tears in his eyes to stay put. Eventually, sleep got the best of him and dreams fogged his thinking.

When Dean woke the next morning, his angel was gone.


End file.
